The Moon, The Occult and the Dark
by Xantospoc
Summary: A magnificent father run himself hollow. Two friends struggle as the sunlight is fading with none the wiser, their life ruined by a curse, an hidden threat since the birth of Lordran resurfaces. Welcome to Dark Souls.


_AUTHOR'S NOTE: This fanfiction of Darksoul, made by Ankoku Yami, has been made with the purpose to entertain fan of the series. Hopefully, all of you enjoy it. In case, give me some constructive critics to help me improve._

* * *

Grace had a name: Eingyi. And she had a mission too: bring him to the justice … the justice of her very blade. The invasion had gotten smoothly, and her group was with her too... well, not on the same place, but she was likely going to meet them in that vast area... the area was so full of the recently turned poisonous waters, only a few patches of dirt of a formerly great town who was only on the verge of growing and now … she could not even believe what she was eating, even despite her nature as an undead .

Purple moss, even if properly dried and sterilized, is undoubtedly one of the most disgusting foods or medical herbs you can consume all over Londran, even in a place like the newly called Blighttown, , and hers was just freshly ripped off a few of those living plants in the Basin its taste felt further akin to dirt and mold, and the face she needed to rise the visor of her paladin helmet was causing her inhale those fumes ... Those stenches would bring a commoner closer to agony: it was like the Great Swamp all over again.

Just in a week, what used to be a decent place, a friendly town just a few steps outside the mighty New Londo ... it had been turned by a poisonous dump, its waters had stagnated and become a deathly swamp and even its inhabitants had ended up... corrupted and, far worse, hollowed. Far from not being able to understand them though: to see your own land ravaged and poisoned, your loved ones die and even your own body disfigured beyond recognition... no wonder, the ones with the Dark Signs were doomed to fall as soon as possible.

Grace could just think this in grimace as she consumed the last part of her clump of purple moss as she heard a voice mocking him. Of course it was him, his set of a black bishop stood out of the brown and greenish tint of Blighttown, even despite the dim lighting.

"Come on, eat that. Nommy nommy nom, it's not like gluttony is a sin... oh wait...", her friend, Andrew the Pardoner said with a big cheerful, if not somewhat eerie, laughter. By Gwyn, that laughter. She was never able to tolerate it, ever since they were kids and were playing with wooden swords in the square of Anor Londo, already Velka's mask hiding the upper side of his face: coupled with the snow white skin, proof of his origins from Carim, Grace had taken quite a while to get used to that creepy ghost of a companion.

"Regardless, it's your fault to be walking for so long on the swamp, you should have gotten faster", he commented at this, twirling his rapier with graceful speed as he had placed away the binocular he had used to observe that small skirmish, nevermind that flying bug who had to bother them all at that moment and her attempt to pierce it through: admittedly, she was the one with sorcery, Andrew was more geared towards offensive miracles and Greatjon... too slow, and his only defense was magical.

Before she could give a retort, she perked up and immediately jumped two-handing her estoc, effortlessly slicing in half the first a series of deformed Cragspiders crawled out of the swamp. A lucky blow and very risky if done alone, but immediately her companion used his speed to give a quick combo on the closest one, dispàersing the hollow's final confessions to the hereafter, while their third companion, using his nigh impenetrable armor built after the grand cleric Havel and with a swung of his lighting halberd, giving multiple strikes taking down all the remaining group, managing to shrug off the steam of fire one of those monsters shot at him before ending it with a slice along both its eyes, muttering with a curse as he groaned in pain: "Spiders, why must there be spiders?"

This … was actually a rather good question. Grace knew that and her suspicions were furthered as she examined one of the corpses. No doubt... those things... vaguely looked humans, if not gone too far to be even recognized as such... and yet the cut up corpses were further proofs of a formerly humanoid mass. Was it something to have turned them into those monsters... or had turned into those things at will? After all, this did not seem the effect of the swamp. And what if... she immediately turned at her Pardoner friend, ignoring the other cleric already moving and leading the exploring like the walking tank he was who promptly shook his head calmly while changing his talisman to a sorcerer's catalyst and cast Soul Homing Mass to get rid of the huge mosquitoes apparently stalking the group: "Nope, none of them was Eingyi Had he been one, I'd have already asked them if they were willing to get pardoned"

"Always off to steal bounties from clerics, Pardoner?"; Greatjon asked upset a as he clumsily rushed despite their throughout an area of poisonous swamp and pulled out a pair of binoculars as well, looking over as the bugs fell around him, struck down by the orbs cast by the pardoner.

Not minding as the black cleric was making a small dance reminiscent of Seath's acolytes's overjoyed by the successful test of his new magic, freshly bought from Vinhiem's sorcerers , Grace questioned her fellow cleric, noticing him lightly staggered by something he had just seen: "What is the deal, Greatjon?"

"Well... I suppose we have found out why there are so many spiders", Havel's follower said showing the Darkmoon Blade through his binoculars a monstrous creation, a huge, if not rudimentary, hive with dozen of people, looking more like dead than alive, yet not hollow as they seemed more than determined to move towards the entrance of the hive, and, just a few feet away, two bloated large hollows of infested barbarians whose smell could literally be compared to a pile of dung. Andrew nodded as he pulled out his rapier on one hand , and … three indictments to the other, something which made Grace's eyes roll as she turned to Greatjon

"You are going to take them head on, we are going to stab them in the back, alright?", Grace asked while setting her miracle to enhance her estoc and her cleric comrade just answered charging them with enough agility despite the heavy armor to dodge their boulders. As the first brute was picking up another heavy rock, the blade of the paladin run through his heart, killing it on the spot, while the other moster despite managing to swing his boulder and knock Greatjon off his feet, had to deal with the stringing pain of Velka's rapier and, as the other cleric stood up, an halberd was swung enough for an head to roll off.

"Too much death in this place"- Andrew commented grimaced - "I miss Anor Londo already, there are so many great people there..."

"And lots of sinners who beg either Velka's or the Allfather's forgiveness, hoping they are lifted of the curse ", Grace said grimly, knowing where his friends want "All of them hope thy High Lord is going to heal their burden … and Anor Londo is overflowing with people who survive ..."

"They are building a burg too, just next to the Allfather's Parish"- Greatjon continued her thoughts, remembering his visits as he turned to glare on Andrew, who answered with a dark chuckle - "We even have one of THY likes who took residence in the tower of the belfry..."

"Whenever there is sin, we are, just like my Blademoon friend"; the black cleric answered patting Grace's back, gaining an eye roll: it was not the proper time for him to do this, but neither was hers to overreact.. Nonetheless, they had finally gotten closer to the hive and … they could finally examine the poor naked individuals crawling there, all covered in disgusting blight pus, but as each turned at them … the eyes. Their eyes were far too bright and expressive for them to be hollow, some even lacked the dark sign.

Andrew kneeled to take a better look at them and one of them crawled before him, wrapping her arms around his leg and started begging him with a sickly tone, not helped as tears kept steaming down her eyes: "P-par-pardoner... I … b-beg thee... m-my son... m-my s-son is d-dying. Absolve my s-sin to save him... t-take all my moneys, my soul... b-but …. s-save him"

Grace could not help but see her friend looking extremely uneasy at this, pushing lightly the woman and dusting himself off before saying: " I can only absolve thy sin, ma'am. But I sell no miracles for thy child''s salvation... not to say, to get absolved jto have something in exchange... is quite selfish... I hope that whoever you are looking for in this cave is going to be far more indulgent than I am... for Velka forgives, but never gives"

The bald woman weakened her grip and sobbed understandingly, crawling away, the black cleric lingering at her blight pus filled body before turning away back into the entrance of the hive, checking everyone's sins with his book, something apparently every Velka's Pardoner was able to do, and his reaction was to shake his book in contempt and sheated his weapons leaving only his talisman, nodding at Grace and Greatjon, who did the same: there was no doubt that those people were harmless... although none of them was going to be as merciful towards Eingyi.

As they stepped in, however, a soothing, seductive voice crept in...

"_**Go back, spawn of Anor Londo. Forbidden be, these parts. Thy soul is far from the wretched we seek. The realm of the creatures of chaos. They accept their banished fate**_"

Grace could not help but shiver a bit as she felt as if spiders were crawling inside her brain, to the point she could not help but draw her estoc again, the only reason she was not causing chaos was that the deformed people seemed too intent in trying to crawl to walk over one more figure, who seemed relatively healthier than all the others... as in he had no pus, but he looked still sick, especially the rather curious growth out of his head leaving it exposed, unlike the mostly covered body of the usual outfit of a pyromancer from the Great Swamp. But as soon as she stared at him... that voice again started leering in her mind, its tone sounded slightly more threatening.

"_**Go back. Lest the flames devour all, and the children of chaos feed upon your charred ashes**_"

'_Who are you?_', she wondered as she clenched her estoc as if to focus on it rather than the pain but then as her eyes flickered. That voice... was distracting her from something obvious: the man who was leading the sick to the center of the Hive's clothes...

"Eingyi from the Great Swamp?", Grace's voice bellowed, stopping everyone as the pyromancer turned at her only to see a sword pointed straight at his sword. The Darkmoon servant could not help but notice that those growth seemed more like eggsacks: disgusting and perverse just like the one who had turned this place into a world of poison and death

"The Lords have deemed thy soul as sinful", the Dark Moon paladin spoke with dead on seriousness, her voice as sharp as her blade "Prepare to face thy retribution"

"Unless thou wisheth to pay for thy salvation... nothing much, just twelve cooper coins or four silver ones, if you have any", her friend started coming from behind the sinner with impressive stealth, while Greatjon just looked over, seemingly ready to help in case, but looking more distracted than a cleric of the Way of the White would normally be. The deformed man looking a few steps away from being hollow at first could not help but just yell in surprise: from the ragged look of his clothes and poor hygiene, the Darkmoon servant seriously doubted that he could have any money on him, not even such a modest sum...

All he could mutter as he was seemingly about to face death was a weak: "F-forgive me..."

Grace had heard already heard people begging for life, and, as harsh as it was, to murder sinners made her a bit jaded towards plights... she didn't really expect however a sudden explosion of mist covering her vision and... toxic fumes. Could she talk without getting intoxicated she'd have loudly cursed, but all she could do was to roll as her friend had gotten out, consuming some blooming purple moss clump, heavily coughing. After a thoughtful glance at his friend, answered with a nod, she rushed wanting to catch up to their target, as he was crying in some rather weird language.

"Plight will get you no-", she said as she decided to pay attention to her surroundings rather than to track her sinner … first of all Greatjon seemed to have disappeared, most likely remained back at the entrance of the hive and Andrew was looking up at a wall. Then... that voice... and this time it was not in her head... she could hear her.

"**_Welcome, bringer of meat, precious new sacrifice_**"

From up above, a creature appeared, an unholy fusion: the lower half of that body was a whole furred arthropod-like body oozing lava from a deformed mouth filled with teeth and surrounded by clusters of blood tinted eyes, its eight leg creeping slowly to bar the exist from her domain, the upper half looked like a beautiful raven haired white woman whose only clothing term was a bracelet on her right upper arm which branded a flaming sword... a bracelet clearly coming from Izalith, judging by its design.

'_Speeches about Chaos, clear affiliation towards fire … is this one of the spawns of the Witch of Life?_', the Darkmoon servant couldn't help but wonder in fear as the monster spoke, her upper body's soothing voice accompanied by the guttural growl of her other mouth, and confirmed her wost fears.

"_**Those who trespass Quelaag's domain... May thou feel the depth of our wrath, for the Children of Chaos are hungry!**_"

"Chaos Witch Queelag?"; Andrew spoke clearly, fearing this: not only the likes of a Chaos Witches were outside his league, but considering how Lord Gwyn had sent his armies of Silver Knights against the city since the mysterious birth of monstrous demons who seemed to come from the energy of the soul of the Lord of Life herself. And now... one of her children... so close?

"Did we ran out of Gold Pine Resin?", she asked turning at the cleric as the giant monster swung her blade seeming very intent at taking them away from that area.

"Of course, the last time we bought some we were in Oolacile, and that mushroom charged me for a whole cooper coin. What a cheapskate!", Velka's cleric answer, earning a glare from his friend before Queelag's mouth on her lower body oopened wide throwing up an incredible steam of lava, forcing the duo to go in opposite directions.

Done with rolling, Grace turned and returned to look for Eingyi, as he was running scared further down yelling two words: "FAIREST LADY! FAIR LADY!"

The Chaos Witch muttered a monstrous guttural sound, sounding like a curse, as a second figure appeared, speaking a language Grace could not comprehend as another set of spider like legs, only of a color as white and candid as snow. Luckily for the two inhabitants of Anor Londo, the dark sister stopped attacking, speaking in that same weird language, Queelag sounding dominating, if not worried, while the sister's voice sounded younger and more innocent, which coupled with her meeker movements and slower movement, made her seem almost like a fair damsel, not even the same lower albino version of Queelag's spider-like body made the Fair Lady seem a monster. What however worried Grace were her milky white eyes and … her black lips. She could not help but gag a little in her mouth as she realized that was blightpus, and that the albino Chaos witch was... consuming it. Either she was the greatest heroine she had ever known or outright suicidal.

"A bonfire keeper, I see..."- Andrew said looking at the two as he was again reading his book of guilty - "the elder sister has hands as dirty as dity as they can be, full of Sins, but I doubt she'd accept any absolution. And my Rank is not high enough to judge the minor sister... nor we can really kill them"

Grace nodded as she was quick to figure out what he meant: it was the Fair Lady people looked up to, in hope they could be healed but... for how long? And even worse, the Pyromancer she had been tracking down... was far too close to the Fair Lady. Weighting the options, she realized she could not win: even if she were to successfully murder Eingyi, she would have to deal with both the Chaos Witches, and one of them was a Bonfire keeper … the area was far too grey, and she risked to draw the war between Anor Londo and Izalith outside the undergrounds in areas full of noncombatant or weaker enemies? What if a Taurus Demon ended up attacking the burgs? What if a Stray Demon were to roam to try and kill fresh undead? Too many dark scenarios... only a right choice in her eyes

"Once we pick Greatjon back, I am going to report to the Dark Sun" - she said to Andrew staring at his eyes flickering - "Are you going to follow me?"

"Sure enough, I have a an Homeward miracle bought from Old Man McLoyf!" - he answered with a grin pulling again his black feathered talisman - "As long as we manage to get out of these two..." Before he could even finish the sentence, both were cut off by Queelag blocking their ext, staring at them with her dark eyes as her voice again sentenced their fate, drawing her Furysword, the spider half growled in rage

"_**The children of chaos are hungry; give yourself to Quelaag's flame**_**!**"

"WAIT", Grace saying deciding to try to be reason with her opponent " A fight against us would bring nothing to you, but the possible wrath of the Darkmoon... and Velka. What.. what if we pay a tool?"

At the mention of the raven-haired goddess of sin, Queelag showed some tension as she looked at the paladin, her gaze straight at Grace's soul... maybe in more ways than one. It was a challenge: what could the Darkmoon servant give a Chaos Witch? It took a few seconds, feeling to the Darkmoon Blade like an eternity, before she could come up with an answer: it's incredible she had to thank those putrid undead rats... one of them must have eaten, sadly, a copse, because once she had gutted that beast, she had found quite a valuable thing.

Before the chaos witch, still keeping her parrying dagger, she pulled out a small black sprite as she tended to her arm to Queelag's: humanity. Life in exchange for life... a rather sad truth, but alas, this was the best way to survive in the harshest lands outside Anor Londo, even though, as a victim of the Dark Sign, Grace was likely to need it more than the Chaos Witch. Queelag, staring at the humanity with an unreadable expression, gazed straight at the black cleric and at the warrior and moving to the side, she gave them a last command.

"_**Go back!**_ "

With a last bow, neither decided to disobey Queelag nor to try to push her patience as she rushed away, Eingyi peeking his egg burdened egg over the Fair Lady's legs in hopes he would not be going to meet either of the two ever again.

"Speaking of two of us" – Grace thoughtfully pondered in worry as she looked around -"where is Greatjon? Old Man McLoyf would not be happy to lose another cleric, with the Way of White already dwindling their numbers, and he is one of the few not to be an undead"

"I am going to find him on my own"- Andrew answered cracking his neck at this - "I don't like _Gwyndolina_ anyway, so I'd rather avoid her and return on the entrance of Anor Londo... not to say... I do not have much to do. Velka's job is giving me a relative free time and in case I will go to absolve a few cleric who wants forgiveness for their sin before their pilgrimage "

"Gwyndolin is **male**" - Grace said ticked off once more by Andrew's teasing before returning to a cooler mood and nodding taking her talisman before bowing down to activate her own Homeward miracles, a bright light enveloping her- "I'd normally insist, but thou seem to have other plans, and I shall respect them... still... take care, friend. Best wishes"

* * *

When her teleport was done, she was just before the Tomb of the Darkmoon, with Gwyn's statue before her. Very fitting she was bowing before it, and with her already a large platoon of her fellow Darkmoon blades, at least a dozen of them, all bowing before the statue.

As she did so, soon her master appeared, the pack of snakes he had instead of his legs a first sign. Of all Lords, Gwyndolin was undoubtedly the shortest reaching only seven feet of height, although some would state he looked even tinier due to his feminine and slender physique tenderly wrapped in white flowing clothes, his visage covered by a dark gold mask which empathized his epithet as 'The Dark Sun'.

"My children, welcome back upon the glorious land of my forefathers, as I, Gwyndolin, the Dark Sun, cast upon thee the blessing of my father himself, the Highlord", he spoke, raising his golden scepter, the Tin Darkmoon catalyst, risen in the air, before his snakes slithered to raise himself further upon the look of the mortals and gazed upon all of his followers, the vacuous eyes of his serpentine appendages staring straight at them upon he find whom he sought.

"Thou, paladin of mine, raise and gaze upon mineself"- Gwyndolin called upn, giving a gentle gesture to make her stand up which she promptly obeyed to -"Thou have been sent upon a noblest mission of invation. How hath the invasion, and the resulting cleansing, resulted? Have the sinners been cleansed upon Lordran?"

This was the moment the undead feared the most, for least of all she wanted not to draw the wrath of the Dark Sun, yet to lie upon him would have been unforgivable before her covenant and reported the failure to the god of sorcery: "Unfortunately, my Dark Sun whom I revere the most, the foul individual to taint the village and turned it into Blighttown has found protection before two of the seven Sisters of Chaos. Fearing my action could lead to an expansion of the century spanning conflict in Izalith your father has been leading, I decided for the sake of the last living people over there and the confining New Londo to postpone his judgment... and to further seek thy advice on the matter, for your wisdom puts you on par with the Allfather"

As soon as the land of the Witch of Life was mentioned, the pale skinned Lord visibly flinched, his snakes coiling back in surprise, as he remained silent for a few minutes, until a poisonous hissing complained the slithering sound of two snakes circling around Grace, just a few inches from wrapping the coils around her.

"Never compare me to the Regent of the High Lord's throne ever again, menial of mine"- He spoke imperiously, not a single word pretending any warmth to his devoted servant, whose fear was showing as she gazed upon the gaping mouths of the reptiles inches away from her throat, until he continued "However, despite thy foolish mouth, thou art not as tainted as whomever the Dark Sign hath tainted throughout the centuries. I commend such actions and, more importantly, to be thy source of wisdom and advice before handling such a task, for indeed, the deformed offsrpings of Izalith doth pose a danger to low ranking servant of mine. Such a news of this demonic spawn shall be referred personally the Allfather himself: if such fear of yours art truthful, we may need the help of all of the Four Knight, Artorias included"

As Grace observed her liege draw behind his coiling appendages, she could hear collective gasps from the other Blades at hearing of Artorias' name, a surprise the Paladin could not help but share, although if overwhelmed by the relief that her Lord was not going to punish her... still, she could not help but think: '_Not just a common knight... but … THE Knight... Knight Artorias..._'

Her flow of consciousness was however interrupted by the Dark Sun tending his graceful her at her tainted persona: "Grace of Astora, bearer of the Paladin set, and harbinger of such news, kneel before me, the Dark Sun which makes your blade shrine with justice, as I shall carry thee over before the Throne my family and thy sun shrineth upon"

Such was Gwyindolin's will, and his will was Grace's will, which she could only kneel before. As Gwyndolin ordered two of his most loyal followers, the gigantic twin of Berinike Torock and Tostone with their imposing Steel armors and their huge mace and Greatsword, each promply buffed with the blademoon miracle, to guard over his father's tomb, a light surrounded both Lord and Paladin alike as they disappeared into it.

As the light faded, Grace could already gaze upon the figure of two Lords, in Lord Gwyn's cathedral . Standing on the throne of Sunlight, with his bright gold hair and a golden version of the cleric set with a large Tyrian purple colored cape, was standing the now elderly Allfather Lloyd, with his bright smile of a wise ruler and the greatest hero of Lordran against the Undead Curse, even though he could not be as magnificent as his nephew, the Lord of Sunlight himself, who was seemingly assorted in thoughtful strategy he was discussing with his friend, Havel the rock, whom Grace could have easily mistook for Greatjon if it weren't for the gigantic club he carried over his shoulder, actually a tooth belonging to one of the Everlasting Dragon who had fallen during the Rise of the Lords, and a shield which looked so heavy the paladin doubted she could lift, much less carry and use in battle.

Not too afar from them, slouched in the couch she used as a throne, in her still giant form which towered even upon the fifteen tall giant Sentinels at the entrance of the throne chamber, was standing Gwynevere, the Princess of Sunlight, as radiant, skimpily dressed and curvacious as usual, surrounded by three of her handmaiden, as scantily clad and as curvaceous as a human could be in an attempt to emulate their goddess of fertility. Not that Grace was jealous of how she could never have such a body, of course, it was not the reason she could not turn the stare away from them without looking embarrassed, not at all, but she felt reviled by how men, including Andrew a few times, kept leering at them.

Even the Duke, who was apparently sitting at one of the corner waiting for an audition, seemed to love them, as on a bi-monthly basis he often carried one of two away to bring to his castle, and rarely, if ever, they were seen again... and the Duke was actually an albino scaleless dragon who had deformed tendrils-like stumps: she did not even want to think what he and his blue armored guards, the channelers, would do with those maidens.

To be sincere, Grace didn't like Seath on basis, especially as he was a rather renown traitor of his own race, a trait she seemed to share with both Havel and Gwynevere's bodyguard, the Captain of the Four Knights, Dragonslayer Ornstein, who was standing mighty in his eight feet of semi-divine height brandishing his Spear which had tasted the blood of countless Drakes: it was rumored just stating aloud his name could clear the Valley of Drake for days, but she thought she was an hyperbole, even though the Captain's prowess and might in combat had more than earned these rumors shrouded in myth.

And of course, in a corner of the room... by Gwyn, why was that man here? Without his elemet, but still most of his armor, eating, or rather scarfing down the food as if he had not been eating for a week, the gargantuan Executioner was relaxing after a rather busy day, as the bloodstain on his hammer implied: other citizen had likely returned hollow, and it was better not to know what Smough did with their clobbered corpses. Hopefully, with some luck, Grace was going to be able to live her stay in Anor Londo without having to deal with the executioner for the rest of her future life... or at least, as far as possible, as she instinctively thought touching her chest, were her Dark sign lingered upon.

"From the brightest of all sunlight, I greet both thee, grandnephew, and thy paladin", Lloyd answered standing up from above the throne of Sunlight before his nephew, being the first to notice his telpeort an act the Dark Sun didn't seem to reciprocate as he just bowed before the Regent of Anor Londo

"Good Morning little brother of mine", Gwynevere spoke with her kindest voice, giving one of the smiles most men would melt before "How art thou?"

Standing silent, the paladin observed her liege bowing politely his head before his sister, his glance turning at the Duke giving him a clear to impose his priority's message, as he spoke to the Princess of Sunlight: "I would love to say delightful, but unfortunately, I bring shattering news upon all..."

The sound of the door spraining open interrupted the speech of the Dark Sun, as a minute masked knight, even shorter than Grace, gracefully moved at the center of the chamber, drawing everyone's attention to her: Lord Blade's Ciaran, leader of Lord Gwyn's assassin had come forth, bringing with her a curious individual dressed in extravagant leather clothes, even more strikingly, an unsettling ear to eat grin, although he seemed decently polite as he nonetheless bowed himself before the gods standing there, gently tipping his hats to them in a demeanor typical to Carim's nobility, causing Grace to wonder whether Andrew knew anything about him.

"I bring shattering news upon all of thee, my lords", The Lord's Blade solemnly said with her usual polite tone laced with far more than a hint of despair...

...A despair Lord Gwyndolin decided to ignore, as he rose to his serpentine tendrils as if he were to tower over the blue armored assassom, giving her such harsh answer: "Lord's Blade, my message to the Allfather takes priority upon the squabble though might have ended meddled into. Make thineself useful, go forth, gather they weapons, and call upon Artorias: his might shall be needed for what I hath to announce"

At the mention of the greatest among Gwyn's Knight, Ciaran let out for a second a weird verse which sounded like a chocked sob and then she lifted a large source of …. many people would have said darkness on a fight sight, yet it was something far more unusual, some might have even come to call it 'black light' or by the unusual term 'unlight' as if to imply it was something more than just absence of brightness... and yet, despite the dark colors, the shape of such light was clearly familiar to all the people in that room: what Ciaran was holding was a soul, most likely tainted by the dark, judging by its color... but nobody, not the Allfather, not even the Dark Sun and especially not the Paladin of the Darkmoon covenant could brace oneself before the grim news who could fall down only like night in Anor Londo.

"Artorias has fallen"


End file.
